


In the light blue house, the shadows play on the ceiling

by Catch22



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Human Derek Hale, Hurt Stiles, Love, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, POV First Person, POV Male Character, Relationship(s), Romance, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, fashion editor!Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 17:23:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1866126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catch22/pseuds/Catch22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I cannot decide if buying the light blue house was the best or the worst decision I made. Whether or not it was, I do not regret it, would you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I remember

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'ed just FYI, given that there might be, well, lot of mistakes in there... other than that all comments are appreciated and so I hope you enjoy it :)

I remember.

 

I remember the soft quirk of his mouth, the lingering stares he’d give me every time I’d come out of the bathroom after my morning ritual, which mainly consisted of relieving my apparently 80 year old blather and a quick shower followed by a brushing of my teeth and morning-breath-stained mouth, and I remember the exact time and date of when he broke my heart.

 

April 22nd

Sixteen minutes after the clock had given us a new day.

 

I was holding my phone close to my face, trying to sett the alarm for the next morning, feeling tired but content knowing I’d receive one of his stares merely seven hours later. He said the words in one breath, not giving himself room to try and take it back or rephrase. “I want out.”

 

I remember looking up at the ceiling, alarm forgotten and my breath leaving me without so much of a hint of ever returning. The white decorated by shadows playing with window forms as cars drove past outside, oblivious to a heart shattering in the light blue painted house in the middle of the night. A single tear left the corner of my eye as I fell asleep to the sound of complete silence. I didn’t even turn to look at his face.

 

The next morning he was gone, all his belongings with him and while looking at the clock and knowing I’d overslept I found myself not knowing what to do.

 

I ended up sitting on the bedroom floor, my back against the bed and my head staring at the bathroom door as if my head had somehow forgotten that he left and was simply waiting for him to get out so it would be my turn to shower. Not surprisingly, he never walked through that door, so I kept waiting until the shadows started playing on the ceiling again. About an hour after the last unanswered phone call could be heard from the vibrations against the nightstand, I fell asleep.

 

The next day I got up at seven. I sat on the toilet until my blather had received the attention it so severely needed, showered and brushed my teeth. I let my eyes wander over to my bed as I re-entered the bedroom silently hoping to catch his stare while knowing all too well I would never be on the receiving end of it again. I ate out half of my fridge within half an hour, which should be some sort of record seeing as it was stocked full just a few days ago.

 

Stepping out the front door seemed too final, and so I left through the kitchen door, which leads out back to the garden. Smelling roses blooming against the house’s light coloured walls, creeping up and around the kitchen windows as if to protect the house from whoever should try to interfere with the serenity of it all. I leave it as he left me; empty but unchanged to the untrained eye.

 

I go to work and let it swallow me whole. I nod and make required inquiries as to not raise attention, because that would only lead to questions I would not know the answers to. After hours spent nodding my head at different layouts and giving every other outfit presented to me a distasteful look, after each one some intern would apologize and try not to cry seeing as it might be the make or break point of said intern’s career, I walk the few blocks required to make it to Scott’s apartment.

 

Sitting down on the new letter couch feels uncomfortable but I don’t complain, at least not about the couch. Scott sits by my side as I go through everything I’ve been going through the last few days. It isn’t much and it’s hardly as dramatic as it felt. Allison gives me a cup of coco and a warm hug before putting Emma to bed and asking whether or not I want to stay in the spare bedroom for the night. I stay, as much for myself as for trying to smooth out the lines seemingly tattooed onto Scott’s forehead. It seems to work.

 

The next morning I leave the apartment at eleven, knowing I’m needed at work but not wanting to show up with in the same clothes as the day before, I take a detour to Lydia’s. She opens the door with an already knowing eyebrow raised and a long and uncharacteristically warm hug if you didn’t know that she secretly collects old love letters dating back to the 12th century. Her outfit is just as expected; it’s flawless and intimidating while still not giving off a cold vibe. We go inside without another word and she starts to fiddle around in the men section of her closet, though it’s not so much a closet as it a room or two displaying overpriced clothing for every occasion and in almost all sizes.

 

She picks out a grey henley and black skinny jeans while muttering to herself about how men are way too easy to dress for her taste and how too many women overdress in stead of keeping it classic. After a couple of minutes with her eyeing the shoe section as if it was personally insulting her and continuing to murmur to herself about how interns didn’t know Chanel from L.V. she reaches for a pair of black converse, which were placed all the way at the back, and throws them at my feet. I proceed to put them on, having learned not to question her taste or her lack of interest in what occasion the outfit is suppose to be suitable for.

 

“Thanks”, I say. I decide not to insult her with a fake smile and instead give her a kiss on her cheek. Her smile is worrisome, but she decides not to pressure me into talking. We both know Allison will update her as soon as she closes the door behind me and calls her. I don’t mind, not wanting to hear it out loud again, even if it's from my own lips.

 

My job is hectic to say the least. There is an array of different task to be done each day and me practically skipping half the day makes for an even more chaotic few hours. Thank God for two assistants and double shot espressos. The day passes with only a couple of mental breakdowns; thankfully none of them were mine.

 

It isn’t until I’m at the end of my street, only about five houses from my own that I see him. He stands just outside the front door; a sweatshirt in one of his hands while the other is turning the key to lock the door. I stop breathing all at once until breathing turns into the only thing I seem to be able to do. It would be one thing simply hyperventilating, but somehow every single oxygen molecule decides it wants no part of me and so the panic attack begins. You’d think it builds, thinking nothing so strong can come on so suddenly; you’d be wrong.

 

I fall to the ground, tears staining my face. Just as I’m about to slip into unconsciousness a couple of strong arms fold around me and a smell of the forest right after the rain stops fills my nostrils. I open my eyes, my lounges seem to be able to do their job again, meeting a steady green-eyed gaze. “Hey, welcome back there, I’m Derek.” The green-eyed man says. I return his gaze, “Stiles.”


	2. I write his name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is unbeta'ed so bare with me. It's not much, but it's something.

\- Derek -

 

I was on my way home from work, contemplating whether I should cook dinner myself or simply grab some over at Laura’s, when the guy walking in front of me stopped and I almost walked straight into him. I did not though, which I became profoundly grateful for when I got a glimpse of the of the young guy’s face. Pure agony defining ever line in his face and his eyes seemed lost of all hope. I followed his gaze towards a blue house further down the street. It was what you could only call adorable, there where no other words for it. Roses crept up the walls and the white window frames were all carved in little twisting patterns. Outside the wooden door stood a man about my own age, not too bad on the eyes but there was something rigid in his stance as he slid the key back into his pocket.

 

Only a few mere inches in front of me the young man started to heave in large amounts of air without seeming to let any of it out again.  A couple of seconds later he began to lose his footing, hitting the ground dead on his knees and without thinking I grab on to him, embracing him into an awkward and one sided hug. The boy leans into me, starts to relax as his lounges catches up and starts working again. I smile down at him, feeling dumb to get so close to a complete stranger yet relieved to know he will be fine in e few minutes. “Hey, welcome back there, I’m Derek.” The stranger’s mouth twitches up into an almost smile though it falters so quickly I would have missed it had I not been looking. Well, staring really, the boy was beautiful and god if that was not just the most inappropriate time to check someone out. Seconds after a panic attack, good going Hale, just great.

 

“Stiles,” the boy announces. I grin, because what else can you do when the guy you just ogled is confessing to you that his name is Stiles, like, what the hell is a _Stiles_? The worst part is he looks stylish, which does not go well with my over caffeinated brain. I carry the burden of having really bad humour on the best of days and unfortunately this is not one of those. I realize a moment to late that I have been gawking at him. He dips his head down, seeming shy if the red tips of his ears are anything to go by. I look up, over his head, noticing the guy standing by the door has been watching their interaction from further down the street. He turns abruptly and heads in the opposite direction, walking fast and with every other step he turns to see if I am still watching.

 

“Er, uhm, thanks?” Stiles say, while standing up a little too fast and wavers around a bit until he steadies himself with his hand on my shoulder. I tilt my head up to meet his gaze; his head is barely blocking the sun, which makes it hard to read face. I stand up, put my hands in my pocket and say “It was nothing really,” even though I know it clearly meant something to him. I just did not know what else to say. Stiles eyes give me a once over, he seems to calculate something and I am not sure I want to know how I grade on whatever it is he compares me to. He is quiet for a long time, and while I get more nervous under his scrutiny I start to babble. And I never babble.

 

“So, er, do you live nearby? You want me to follow you home because I could do that, no problem, you know if you don’t feel well enough to be on your own, or you know just need someone to talk to. I can, er, talk?” Just great. _I can talk_??? Really? I should just leave. There is no way I am going over to Laura’s now, she would take one look at me and laugh until the sun went down. It has happened before.

 

“Nah, it’s fine, I live just a few houses down so it’s no problem. Thanks, though, that could have gone a lot worse, so… yeah.” Stiles smiles, it is a sincere yet small smile and it does something to my body which is also inappropriate. Just great. I should really get out of his hair before he notices the on goings in my northern region. “You sure?” I ask, not wanting to impose but I do not want to leave him either. “Yeah, I literally live in the blue house over there so it’s really no problem getting home.” He jerks his thumb in the general direction of the house and since I already know which one he is talking about I cannot help but wonder whether or not the guy standing there before is someone close to him or if he is the reason for Stiles’ sudden panic. I hold my tongue though, it is not my place to ask and I am pretty sure it would do any good.

 

“Oh, okay,” I say, staring intently at the ground, I just do not want him to leave yet. “So, uhm, bye then, Stiles was it?” Of course I knew it was Stiles, I have practically been writing Stiles Hale in my head for the last ten minutes like a sad and desperate third grader. “Oh-kay, yeah, that’s, that’s right, uhm, bye Derek.” Stiles stutter. He hesitates just a second before he start walking. I manage all of three second without saying anything before my mouth takes over: “Stiles! Uh, do you, maybe, wanna, like, get some coffee or my number? Or both? You could get both. Uhm…” My mouth really hated me today and now I am bound to find another route home from work. Fantastic. I do not dare look into his eyes so I stare at his feet instead which is weird. I am getting weirder by the second. I open my mouth to tell him to forget it, that he does not have to and that is was probably just another stupid suggestion, but right as the words are to be uttered Stiles says: “Your number would be nice, I don’t really know how I feel about coffee at the moment though, maybe later, yeah?”

 

I smile, cannot help it really, and as I walk up to him takes his phone and write in my digits I can feel his eyes on me. No calculation in it this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ya'll liked it!

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah...I don't know what happens next either ;)


End file.
